Page 124 of The Prize

“Bloody hell,” I said. “I hate them.”

“My thoughts exactly.” He gave my arm a reassuring pat. “This is him trying to compete with Leonardo da Vinci. I told you he’s obsessed.”

“How could anyone compete with such a master?”

“Someone with daddy issues, evidently.” We walked to where the staircase ended and the Rube Goldberg device began. “This is mathematics and art cobbled together.”

To walk on it we’d have to navigate the thin rails and if that chrome ball came loose we’d be screwed. One wrong move...

Tobias stepped closer. “Leonardo da Vinci’s dying words were ‘I have offended God and mankind because my work did not reach the quality it should have.’”

“That’s modesty.”

“Unlike Crazy-head here.”

“It doesn’t make any sense. The wheel in Arizona was simple. Rudimentary in design. If Eli is advancing this would have taken longer to create.”

“This is his dad.”

“Elliot Burell’s design?”

Tobias shot me a wary look as he realized. “Shit.”

A small blue light came onto my headset directly before my left eye. Then snapped off.

The sound of clapping from behind us.

I turned to see Elliot Burell wearing a smug look on his face. He was dressed in a tailored suit and yet it did nothing to hide the monster wearing it. He reached into his jacket and removed a handgun and pointed it at us.

“The FBI know we’re here,” I said.

Burell gave a sly smile. “Let’s have that chat you’ve been hankering after.”

“Well this is cozy,” said Wilder. “Love the contraption. Very Freudian. Looks like karma to me.”

Elliot’s gaze swept from Tobias and back to me. “Have a grudge, Wilder?”

Tobias shrugged. “There’s just so many of us out there.”

“Is it because I have the biggest collection of Leonardo da Vinci artwork and unique pieces ever collected?” Burell looked triumphant. “You always were jealous.”

Tobias’s back stiffened. “That’s not it at all.”

“I thought to myself how threatening can a nine-year-old be? After that unfortunate crash of your parents’ plane I assumed you’d be kept occupied by a lifetime of therapy.”

“I found my own way of getting over what you did to my family.” Tobias drew in a sharp breath. “So far it’s been quite the success.”

“Ah, yes, your entrepreneurial exploits are quite the inspiration. Love the keyboard-in-the-air thing. Though I’ll be sticking to a conservative approach. What a waste of time.”

“You never did have any vision.”

“That is my finest work.” He gestured to the Rube Goldberg.

“Look,” I said. “I just want my paintings back. The ones you stole and exchanged for fakes so my dad wouldn’t notice.”

“He knew.” Elliot Burell closed his eyes for a second and it looked like pride. “Bertram couldn’t prove it. He chose the insurance money so you wouldn’t be thrown into poverty trying to fight a case he couldn’t win.”

I hated being this close to him and knowing the kind of pain he’d caused.